Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" nor any of its characters.

-I-

"I know the two of you do not have your feet on MY coffee table."

The strident voice had Sam jumping out of his skin. His arms shot out, his feet kicked outwards tipping the table over. The decorative bowl slid off it, spilling jeweled beads onto the floor. The knick-knacks followed suit.

He scrambled to get up, but found himself tangled in blankets and shoved back by Dean's arms-- who was also trying to extricate himself from blankets and pillows to get up.

Missouri stood at the doorway, eyebrows arched, watching them.

"Fuck Dean," he hissed, when Dean accidentaly elbowed him in the face. He shoved back hard, scowling.

"Shit," Dean growled, yanking on the blanket, trying to pull his arms out. Sam yanked back-- just as Dean freed himself.

A moment later he found himself sprawled on the living room floor.

They were all silent.

Sam on the ground, Dean staring at him, the table tipped over...

"When the two of you are done tussling like misbehaved puppies and you've put my living room back the you found it and you've polished the table you put your feet on. Then you can come eat breakfast in the kitchen. Cleaning supplies are in the hall closet."

They heard her move away, but neither one moved for a long moment.

"Smooth, dude, smooth." Dean taunted, shaking his head.

Sam scowled, it was too early for this, "Like you were?!" He cried.

"I didn't kick the table!"

"But you smacked me!"

"You--"

"BOYS!"

They jumped, holding their breaths, eyes wide.

"Don't you make me come back in there!" She called out to them, "Ya hear me?"

Dean made a face Sam would have found comical if Missouri hadn't just yelled at them.

They exchanged quick looks, "Yes, Ma'am." They called back. Dean shrugged the rest of the blanket off and stood, Sam sighed and reached his hand up so Dean could help him stand.

Dean echoed his sigh and grabbed his hand, pulling him up.

If the last five minutes were any indication, it was going to be a long day.

-I-

"Okay then," she murmured, drying her hands on a dish towel, "Sam, you come on with me. Dean, you go on and make yourself useful about town."

Her casual words simultaneously released and doubled the tension in the room. They'd done as she'd requested in the living room. Then they'd sat and had breakfast, then helped with the dishes, then they'd had turns at the shower.

The rest of the morning had been spent sitting at the table, as they were now, watching Missouri clean the kitchen and exchanging looks-- wondering what she was waiting for.

They both jumped at her words. It took a moment for Sam to register the words; for it to dawn on him that she meant to separate them.

"No," Sam he protested, "Dean can stay--"

"That's not up to you to decide. We're going to work and we can't be distracted. Dean can take a trip about town for the afternoon. I'm sure he can keep himself busy."

Sam bristled, drawing himself up a little straighter, "He's not going to--"

"It's okay, Sam," Dean interrupted him, standing from the kitchen table, "Missouri's right. There's nothing I can do here anyway," he shot the woman a look, "I'll get outa your hair so you can concentrate on fixing this."

Missouri arched one eyebrow at the implied order, but Dean had already turned away from her; his gaze fastened on Sam, "... I'll be back later..."

Sam shook his head, standing as well, "You're not gonna distract me," he stated, then looked at Missouri, "He's not gonna distract me," he repeated, "I'd like it better if Dean--"

"We're on a tight schedule, Sam. You implied as much last night," Missouri cut him off, "You have to trust me on this-- Dean has to go." She stated.

Sam knew his brother flinched; he didn't actually see it happen, but he knew it did. And he was pissed at Missouri for making it happen. She couldn't treat Dean like that, she just couldn't.

"No problem-- I'm gone," Dean murmured, "... have fun," he added, nudging Sam's shoulder with his briefly as he left the kitchen.

Sam scowled, taking a step forward and opening his mouth to call Dean back. Missouri stepped in front of him, "No, let him go."

He glowered at her, "No. Just because we came to you for help-- which was Dean's idea, by the way; he trusts you-- doesn't mean you get call all the shots!"

Heheard the front door open and close and moved to step around her.

"I get to call this shot, young man! And you're gonna adjust that attitude right this second!" She snarled.

Sam stopped, "He didn't have to leave! I didn't want him to!" He snarled back.

"But we need him to!"

What? "What?"

She sighed, "Come with me..." she stated, heading out of the kitchen.

Sam didn't move. He heard the Impala roar to life. Dean was leaving and that somehow felt-- wrong. Whatever this was... it was about their Mom and Dean should be here for that.

Missouri was standing in front of him again, "You have to trust me, Sam; this isn't going to work if you balk at everything I say."

"I'm not balking-- I just... I didn't want--"

"Dean's a big boy, you don't have to worry about hurting his feelings." She stated.

He scowled, "Don't do that! Don't read me!"

"It's what I do, Sam," she told him, "... and I believe we're here to figure out what you can do."

"We are, but--"

"Then believe me when I tell you that for this we need Dean gone. He's gonna be the easiest for you."

Sam blinked, was that supposed to make sense?

"Come with me," she told him again and this time he complied. As they passed the front door towards the stairs he couldn't stop himself from sighing, it still didn't seem fair...

Missouri led him to a small study.

Lined with bookshelves, the room had one coffee table and two armchairs in it. Small end tables stood at the corners with lamps on them. The drapes were a dark burgundy color, the material looked heavy. The carpet was a shade lighter than the curtains and symbols were engraved onto it.

"Sit down there," she told him, pointing to an armchair.

Remembering the instruction to not balk at everything she said, he sat down without a word; then watched as she opened a drawer in one of the end tables and extracted several stones. She began to set them out around him. He swallowed hard, years of training couldn't be silenced and even the fact that Dad had trusted her, that Dean had brought him here, didn't stop him from reaching out and catching the last stone she was about to place before it hit the ground.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She smirked at him, "You have nothing to fear from me, boy. I'm on your side all the way." She murmured; which was comforting to know, but didn't answer his question.

He waited, still holding the stone in his closed hand.

"It's going to amplify whatever energy we manage to drum out of you," she answered, "You're not likely to have much. You've never trained your abilities and they require a form of focus that's not gonna be familiar to you."

She stared at him, not offering anymore and not demanding that he return the stone. It wasn't a good idea to let anyone put you in a circle of crystals unless you were damn sure of what those crystals were gonna do.

He really wished Dean were here. With a sigh, he opened his hand. She took the stone and placed it on the carpet. Nothing happened.

"Okay, that's that." She stated, "Did you manage to read anything from the book last night?" she asked.

He smirked, "I read the whole thing." While Dean had watched cartoons.

"Good, good."

"What I'm doing is a cross between astral and etheric projection."

"With something else thrown in for spice," Missouri offered, smiling at him.

A surprised smile tugged at Sam's mouth too, "So what are we doing about it?"

"First, we attempt to get you project in the simplest form possible and we build from there." She answered taking a seat across from him.

"But I don't want to project, that's the problem--"

"To stop it, you have to know how to use it, how to control it." She interrupted him, "You learn how to do it and you can stop yourself from doing it."

Okay, that made sense. But still...

"... and Dean had to be gone for this, why?" he asked, unable to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

"He's the easiest mark for you," she answered calmly, as if that made any sense, "Your most accessible link at the moment."

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. It had been a long sleepless night, in a series of long sleepless nights-- he was not in the mood for this. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, frustration leaking into his voice.

"It means," she answered pointedly, "... that if you're able to see anyone with as little training as you have, it'll be Dean."

"See anyone?!" he asked, suddenly panicked. What exactly were they talking about?

Missouri sighed, as ifs he'd explained this already, "Yes, Sam, you're going to see Dean; to project to where he is."

Oh, well, sure.

"No way." He answered and she arched an eyebrow.

"You're balking again," she told him simply.

"I don't know--"

"Boy! You are trying my patience!" She snapped at him, eyes flashing, "I know you don't know anything! That's why you're here, ain't it!?" she hissed, "... hard-headed like your Daddy, is what you are. Stop yapping and listen to me."

Sam's mouth snapped shut.

"We are going to do some strengthening exercises. Then I am going to walk you through the process of a basic projection. It isn't hard and because you've got enough natural ability to light up a city it shouldn't take long. Now 'cause you don't know what you're doin-- you're going to project to Dean; that's the equivalent of training wheels-- easy as pie." She said with a smile now that he'd shut up.

"Why couldn't you tell him that?" Sam asked and even he heard the petulance in his tone.

"Because he'd be aware of what you're doing and that would change the dynamics. People you go on to do this with won't be aware of it-- so neither should Dean. You can tell him about it after." She explained.

It made sense, it didn't change the fact that she'd driven Dean away though. He wasn't comfortable with that-- for any reason.

He consolidated that thought, made it as sharp as he could, made it the only thing in his mind and met her gaze steadily.

Her eyes widened a little, her lips quirked oddly and then she nodded, "Point taken." She responded steadily, and he nodded back, releasing a long breath along with the thought. A pain beginning to pulse at the back of his head.

She arched an eyebrow, "You took the reading to heart."

Sam was quiet for a moment, "I'm a fast learner," he responded. And they didn't have much time.

"Okay, lets get started then. "

He felt tension coil inside him at her words.

"... first thing-- you have to relax."

Relax. Right. Of course.

Oh, yeah. It was definately going to be a long morning.

-I-

He knew now, why psychics, the honest to god real ones, only took a few clients at a time. It wasn't just a headache, headaches he knew-- intimately. No, it was a weariness that went down to his bones.

It had taken three and a half hours. Fast, Missouri insisted, but they'd felt eternal to him.

Three and a half hours of focus and breathing and concentrating and exhaling and clearing his mind, three and a half hours of relaxing-- and seriously, who knew relaxing could be so friggin stressful... but in the end, he'd done it.

He'd seen Dean; seen his brother at a library, seen him bent over books; seen him staring at a computer screen, notepad to one side, pen in hand. He'd have thought it a memory if not for the attendant that offered to help Dean twice in one half an hour.

The attendant whose name Dean had learned was Amy. Sam had seen Dean flirting with her.

Amy made it real. He'd projected to his brother.

And now it was hard to even see straight. He just wanted to sleep. He'd meant to wait for Dean and confess exactly what had happened; to tell him that he'd practiced sharpening his thoughts and clearing his mind, to tell Dean that he'd seen him, that he'd projected-- that he'd finally learned to do something with his gifts. He wasn't going to make it, though. He practically staggered into the guest bedroom, lurching towards the bed, falling face first onto it-- vaguely hoping he didn't see her. He was asleep before he finished the thought.

-I-

Dean wandered back in after staring at Sam for twenty minutes. His little brother was sprawled out on the bed, face buried in a pillow, conked out. He had searched the living room first when he'd gotten back. Then the kitchen; Missouri had been in there when he'd strode through the door. He's in the guest room, she'd told him, not bothering to look up from where she'd been reading.

He was back in the kitchen now. She was still reading. He just stood there-- he didn't know what else to do. So he just stood there-- waiting. He'd come to her because he trusted her. He trusted her because Dad had and because she lived in a hazy memory of his; a memory of a time when everything was too big and too scary and everything was always moving. The memory was warm... he didn't know exactly why, but it was-- so he trusted her.

Still, she made him uncomfortable on a level he very rarely experienced. There was a feeling of being measured when she looked at him, of being judged against something and he could never tell whether he was found lacking or adequate. He wasn't sure which verdict would be worse.

"You just gonna stand there, boy?! she snapped, her head still bent over the book. He didn't jump, he'd been accepting her to snap at him.

He shrugged, offering a her crooked smile, even though she wasn't looking at him.

"You got somethin to say?" she asked after a moment, lifting her gaze.

"Yes." He offered. Then swallowed hard, "How... how did it go?" He asked.

She was silent for a moment, then motioned towards a chair, "Well sit then, if you wanna talk."

He did, she put her book aside.

"He did good; catches on fast." She told him and he fought the urge to squirm under that steady gaze.

He nodded, "Yeah, always has..." He trailed off.

"Is there something specific you wanted to ask, Dean?" she asked, and he knew she already what he wanted to ask.

He scowled at her, "Don't go through my thoughts." He ordered and he didn't care if he sounded harsh. The idea of being an open book to someone pissed him off... and maybe terrified him a bit.

"You're far from an open book," she commented, smirking.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he made a move to stand up. He wasn't going to sit here and have her read him.

"Don't." She stated, "You have a question. Ask it."

He stared at her, the smirk was gone.

"Did Dad know? Did he know about Mom?" The question slid out of him. He didn't explain, didn't preface it-- knew he didn't have to.

She answered immediately, "It took him years to come back here and even then... he didn't go there. But yes, in the end... he did find it."

"Did he ever... did he..." He couldn't finish it, his gaze dropped to the table. The knot in his stomach had suddenly risen to his throat. He couldn't do this-- he couldn't have the world shifting, not again... not like this...

"Look into it?" Missouri finished for him.

He nodded, his gaze still lowered.

"No, he didn't. John felt it didn't matter."

He turned those words over in his mind and felt his heart thud. He lifted his eyes to her, "I think it does." He whispered.

She nodded slowly, "I do too."

"Yeah, okay." He murmured. There was nothing else to say.

He stood abruptly. He needed to get out... he needed to process and do something...

He could feel her gaze follow him as he walked towards the door. He stopped suddenly, a thought striking him, he turned back to her and shuffled his feet a little, then took a deep breath, "I was-- when I went-- in the bathroom-- there's a tile that's a little... it's kinda loose. I could... fix that for ya... if you want." He offered. He wasn't exactly sure where the offer had come from, but he felt better as soon as the words left his mouth. It was something to do-- something he could do.

She was eyed him, "Hmmph," she murmured, "... hadn't thought a that... there's a tool box in the garage and the window in the study upstairs doesn't open; and there's a floorboard in there that creaks; and there's a light bulb that went out, out back that could us replacin..."

He nodded, "Yeah, okay... sure, I can do that-- at least..." he muttered.

She stood suddenly, "You can do a lot, Dean. You always do."

He felt an abrupt, hairline fissure inside him and instinctively took a step back.

He couldn't-- panic welled inside, pushed against his chest, a lump rose to his throat.

He couldn't take-- sympathy from her-- it would-- it would break him; her sympathy would shatter him.

He wouldn't be able to hold steady under it.

He swallowed hard, immobilized by those dark eyes-- studying him-- reading him.

His eyes burned, please no, don't be understanding, don't be soft...

He couldn't lean against soft, something soft couldn't support his weight.

"Well?" she snapped, "Get to it! It ain't gonna fix itself!"

He did jump then, the words taking a moment to register; the pressure easing as abruptly as it had built.

He swallowed again, nodding, "Yes, ma'am," he responded automatically, she nodded.

They stared at each other another moment before he lowered his gaze and moved to leave the kitchen. He could feel her gaze following him out; he'd do the work and hopefully when he was finished Sam would be awake.

Because, he wasn't really sure how much alone time with Missouri he could hold steady for.

Author's Note: I apologize for the wait-- RL demanded undivided attention for a bit and then I couldn't get this chapter to sound right so I held on to it for bit. Missouri turned out to be a little rough for me write. We argued, glaring was utilized, but finally we came to an uneasy amnesty. ;-)

Thanks for reading!!